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Not something that one would want to see ever again. Coming back, walking south along the wide grass and Palm Tree divided Dolores Street, I took a left at 25th Street, walked a short ways east, down a bit of a hill and sat on someone's wooden
front entry-way stairs in the afternoon sunlight. Smoked a joint from the leaves of my plants. It suddenly occurred to me that across the street, all the two story gingerbread houses made a wall. I looked right and it was a hill and suddenly the hill appeared to me to be a straight up and down wall. And I looked left to the east down the street a long way and it dead-ended in a large building. I could see no cross streets but of course they must be there. Then it occurred to me that I was trapped on this street and could not get out. Wwhat to do ?
I began to think and realized that I could get out, but what I would have to do would be to knock on doors and convince the occupants to let me through the house into the back yard, where I would have to cross and climb the fence, and jump into the adjoining back yard. From there I would have to knock on the back door
of that house, and convince them to allow me through their house and let me out the front door where I would be free. Needless to say at some point I just walked off down the street.
I had been in the army, spent time in Greece, traveled through most every western-block country in Europe, spent some months in Haight Ashbury and North Beach, but had never had an experience such as this. This was a whole other dimension.
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